


Finding Rocket Man

by jamie55



Series: Star Crossed [1]
Category: Star Trek, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Trek, Alternate Universe - Star Trek Fusion, Enemies to Friends, Gen, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Slow Build Castiel/Dean Winchester, Star Trek AU, cas is a sassy pants, dean is bitter towards many things, john isn't here to stay, look this is gonna lead to things okay, sam is also bitter but for other reasons, sort of, you're just gonna have to trust me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 14:30:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8628112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamie55/pseuds/jamie55
Summary: Set in the Star Trek Universe, Supernatural characters///Sam Winchester was working hard to move away from his past and into his future, his career in Starfleet.  But then his ship receives a coded message meant for him and he can't ignore it.  So he goes off to help out, with some help of his own.





	1. Can You Hear Me Now?

**Author's Note:**

> Firstly let me say that my artist is ridiculously amazing. I cannot emphasize that enough. I had some particularly awful news/things happen just as DCBB author/artist pairing finally occured and [ entirely-the-wrong-sort](http://entirely-the-wrong-sort.tumblr.com/) was nothing but kind and patient and wonderful and it was all very dearly needed and appreciated because I was a useless author for about a month and a half. NOT ONLY THAT but she also beta'd the fic. Srsly artist is an amazing human being [AND LOOK AT THE WONDERFUL ART](http://entirely-the-wrong-sort.tumblr.com/post/153525317010/my-artwork-for-finding-rocket-man-link-when) SHE MADE. It's honestly too much and i doubt i'll ever not be grateful.
> 
> SECOND THING: this will be a series. There is more to come. Much more. I just haven't gotten it all down yet because (as mentioned previously) i have had a bad few months, but believe me more will come. Otherwise previously mentioned wonderful artist will be disappointed and I just can't do that to her. SO THERE YA GO - that's like fic insurance.  
> Go shower [ entirely-the-wrong-sort](http://entirely-the-wrong-sort.tumblr.com/) with love and affection for an increase in insurance.
> 
>  
> 
> [Art Masterpost](http://entirely-the-wrong-sort.tumblr.com/post/153525317010/my-artwork-for-finding-rocket-man-link-when)

 

 

  


 

 

When Sam entered the room, Commander Robert Singer, acting captain, was looking over a report. Lieutenant Gabriel Milton sat quietly next to him. He was the ship’s communication officer.

He’d taken it upon himself to ‘help’ Sam, after his first week aboard the USS Persephone. It was great, for the most part. Milton had years of experience, an excellent ear and nimble tongue, and he knew everything there was to know about working the communication computer. He could localize and focus on a single frequency within subspace as if it were as easy as picking up a ball. Lt Milton had found great pleasure in handing Sam the more ‘boring’ communiques. He’d tell him that it was for his own good, that practice was needed until deciphering Klingon jargon about weather reports was as simple as reading a menu - and Sam could appreciate the logic behind that. He was pleased to have the opportunity to learn from such an excellent officer; at first. On more than one occasion, Sam discovered that he’d spent hours deciphering what turned out to be a phony message which Milton had made up using the most decrepit and ancient dialects imaginable. The first time it happened he had gone to Captain Harvelle with a communique stating that the Tribble legion had depleted Earth’s reserves of high-fructose corn syrup. Gabriel laughed so hard he fell to the floor.

But there was no such amusement to be found on his features today. There was something cold and hard instead of the usual jovial tone Gabriel set. It sent a cold chill down Sam’s spine.

Still.

He was a starfleet officer. So he stood at attention. “Ensign Sam Winchester, reporting for duty, sir!”

Cmdr Singer glanced up, “Take a seat, Sam.”

Sam swallowed nervously and sat down.

This wasn’t for a mission or an assignment.

He glanced over to Milton for a clue, but the man’s features were as set as stone and while he was looking straight at Sam, there was nothing amiable about it. It was a cold and distant accusation, and that’s when Sam realized, this was a questioning.

“Sam,” Cmdr Singer started, “do you have any contacts who’d be inhabiting or doing business on the planet Crossruds?”

And there it was.

Sam felt every muscle tense, every hair bristle, and something heavy fall in the pits of his chest. But this wasn’t a shock. Because deep down, deep down, he knew this was too good to go on. Sam’s gaze flickered to Milton who was watching him closely.

“Sir?”

“Don’t play dumb, boy. This is a time dependent issue.”

Sam swallowed whatever lie he wished to roll off his tongue, because he didn’t want this. This - this wasn’t who he was. Not anymore.

Of course, that wouldn’t do any good.

Maybe with Captain Harvelle or some other officer he could’ve come up with something - but this was Bobby. He had been the only friend John had kept up with after leaving Starfleet. He had babysat him more times than he could count - heck, he was the one who sponsored him when Sam had run off to join Starfleet.

There wasn’t any use lying when they both knew.

“What happened?”

Bobby sighed. “As I’m sure you’re aware, ensign, we’re in the adjacent system.”

“Of course.”

“And about a quarter of an hour ago, we got a message from it.”

“From it?” Sam frowned. Crossruds was far from being a Federation planet or even a vastly inhabited one (on the record).

Singer turned an eye to Milton who leaned forward. “It was sent via some sort of unmanned probed which had been shot up from the planet surface. It was set to tap specifically into a Federation subspace frequency and - more than that - it was set to hit this vessel and only this vessel.” His mouth quirked to a grin, which lacked its usual nonchalance, “And it’s meant for you.”

“Me?”

“Sammy,” he frowned, “don’t go doubting my skills now.” He slid over the tablet he had for Sam to see. On screen, the display read:

 

_SW_

_Clark MIA, Krypton found, Robin ASAP._

_ET_

 

Sam read it over carefully.

“Now what I find most interesting,” Gabriel continued, “is that _anyone_ from Crossruds would even try to contact Starfleet. I mean, considering the typical inhabitant and/or visitor - I thought it was ridiculous, some sort of error in transmission. But Robert here seemed to know exactly why -”

“That’s enough, Milton.” At Cmdr Singer’s order, Gabriel stopped - snapping his mouth closed - and sunk back into his seat with a sigh. Sam turned his attention back to Bobby who seemed more frustrated than anything. “Sam, if this is what I think it is…”

“Sir,” Sam said, “I’d like to request a short leave period.”

Bobby frowned. “The hell with that.” Gabriel’s eyebrows shot up and all trace of professionalism slid off Sam’s features.

“Sir -”

“No,” Bobby cut him off. “I am not letting you go off - alone - to the most dangerous planet in the region for some half-ass suicide mission.”

Sam chuckled, “I’m not planning on dying.”

“No, cause I’m not planning on letting ya.”

“Bobby…” Sam thinned his lips and spared a glance to Gabriel before continuing. “Bobby he’s - I think he’s in trouble.”

“Which one?”

Sam took in a breath. “Who do you think would even bother contacting me?”

Bobby ran a hand over his face. Taking a deep breath in, he sighed. “Look,” he said, “I could order you to stay, but I think that’d be as effective as tying an elephant with a string rope.”

Sam kept his eyes on him, puppy mode activated. Bobby stared at him a moment longer. “Leave granted.”

“Sir -” Gabriel started to protest, but Bobby raised a hand.

“There are a few conditions.”

Sam nodded, eager to agree to just about anything. He knew time was of the essence.


	2. Who the Hell Are You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam gets a babysitter, Castiel gets annoyed. Also Castiel appears. Tada!

 

Castiel Novak carefully looked over all their supplies in the shuttlecraft. He had never been on Crossruds, but he had studied the environmental details quite thoroughly - so he felt well prepared.

“Uh, excuse me,” a voice came from behind him, just outside the shuttle.

“Yes?” He said without turning.

“Uhm, hi,” the voice, male, said coming closer. “Ensign Sam Winchester?”

Castiel turned around. The man was young, had hair which nearly reached his shoulders and was wearing civilian clothing.

“Sam Winchester.”

“Yeah, that’s me.” He clutched the strap of a pack to his shoulder, adjusting it in some sort of anxious manner.

Castiel nodded. “I’ll be your... escort for the trip. Lieutenant Commander Castiel Novak.” He introduced himself and turned back around to the control to double check the course plan. He missed the way Sam’s eyes went wide and his mouth opened into a smile.

“Oh my god. You’re- wow. Okay. It’s a pleasure, sir - it’s an honour, I uh.”

Castiel spared another glance behind to look at him. The boy seemed to recover and cleared his throat.

“Sir.”

Castiel took a deep breath and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. This was probably the boy’s first off-world mission. Mission being a generous description, Cmdr Singer had made that much clear.

“I just finished checking supplies,” he said instead, hitting a few keys and, satisfied that the course was proper, sat back. “We’ll depart as soon as Commander Singer signals our position.”

“Great,” Sam said, eyes still on Castiel. “So you’re uh, my security detail, huh?”

Castiel let his chair swivel around to Sam, who sat in the back seat, pack stored away. He frowned at the boy until the small grin and that spark of excitement had faded. It was self-important and Castiel did not approve of it. “Yes, I’m here to ensure your safe return from travels on one of the most feared and deadly planets in this sector. I can assure you, ensign, it’s a task I’m fully capable of.”

“No - no, no, I know. I just meant -” Castiel turned away and Sam prattled on. “I’ve heard about you. I mean not you - you - not just you. I’ve heard about your missions, while you were on the Nimbus and the Romulan attacks on that Vulcan colony and Meg told me how you handled the situation on Llamja IX -”

“You are friends with Meg?”

“I guess, sure, I mean, we talk. Are you two close?”

Castiel turned to look at him. “I would not advice anyone to be _close_ to Meg.”

“Why not? Oh, is it because of what happened in that Ward on Kreeton Lobd? The one where you and Uri of El were pinned down by -”

“Ensign.”

Sam stiffened.

“Do you always gossip so much to your superior officers?”

“Uh.”

“I believe your time would be better spent looking over the star chart for our imminent voyage and mission. Don’t you.” It wasn’t a question. That happy spark in the boy’s eye quieted down and Sam nodded, picking up his nearby tablet and hitting a few keys.

Good.

The easiest way to get killed was empty enthusiasm and a lack of preparation.

Castiel was not particularly pleased by this assignment, but he had no plans to fail. Sam Winchester was going on a _personal_ mission of sorts to Crossruds and he couldn’t go alone.

Crossruds was in a twin-sun system which held two other M-class planets, whose orbits were similar (though they provided much fairer weather conditions). Crossruds was in between the two and it’s orbit caused it to be a perfect ‘pit-stop’ between the two. For about 50 years, inhabitants of the two worlds used Crossruds as a neutral resting area for their ships. The planet’s rocks were of some value, so a few mining teams and companies were set out from both worlds to collect. The planet was of sustainable size and the value wasn’t of any grand significance, so the two worlds established a contract between themselves and were content to dig rocks and get along.

Nobody bothered to secure or monitor the planet.

An underground trading system was established and it grew. It grew greedy at first. The mining operations were attacked, and both worlds retreated. Neither one was prepared to go to war over a few rocks.

Then it got bored of rocks and grew some more.

It grew beyond the system it inhabited and it grew beyond simple black market trades.

Conditions on Crossruds were of the most extreme and visiting the surface was not recommended. While the planet itself was able to sustain some life forms - though none were native - for the most part it was barren land. The atmosphere held oxygen amounts at levels lower than was generally preferred for long durations due to the spare amount of vegetation and high levels of volcanic activity. On top of that, there was a high magnetic field which rendered most sensors useless, transportation impossible, and prolonged exposure damaged an internal ship’s system.

So it really was a great location to set up HQ if you didn’t want to be found.

This was all good reason to avoid the planet, and a good reason for reasonable life to avoid a planet gave good reason to _others_ to utilize it.

Whatever there was on Crossruds was dangerous and - considering this was a personal mission and that it involved Sam Winchester - Castiel was sure it involved ties to one of the underground sect. Which explained why Cmdr Singer was allowing this mission off official records.

As a _personal_ favour.

Castiel finally got word that he was clear to leave the cargo bay and he would have happily spent the nearly 3 hour flight in silence, but that was barely an option. Time had been of the essence, and the briefing, he had decided, would be best done on the way.

Which meant talking.

It probably meant trying to get information, some of which Ensign Winchester might consider to be of a personal nature. Using nothing but… words. Trying to form a personal… connection? With Sam.

This was not Castiel’s strong suit.

They were on route for about an hour and had settled into their required course when Castiel decided to face the issue.

He side-eyed Sam. He was monitoring the controls as though they held some higher form of knowledge and not simple guidance information.

Castiel rolled his eyes (slightly) and took a breath.

“Ensign.”

“Yes, sir,” Sam sat up in attention.

“What are we doing?”

“Uh,” Sam articulated, “heading to Crossruds.”

Castiel struggled not to roll his eyes. “That is not what I meant. We should discuss the mission at hand.”

“Oh uh, you want to know about the uh... what we’re going to do?”

“Yes. Some intelligence would be welcomed.”

Sam glanced at him, with an odd, near perplexed expression, before looking away with a blink. “Okay. Did they show you the message?” His tone wasn’t as enthusiastic as earlier, which was probably good.

“Yes.”

“Great.”

Castiel frowned at him. “It was nonsense.”

“It’s uh... it’s a sort of code,” Sam grinned.

“I assumed as much. You understood it?”

“Yeah. It’s referencing stories I knew growing up.”

Castiel furrowed his brow. “What stories?”

“They’re ancient fiction from Earth. Mostly about superheroes. They were beings with extraordinary abilities or powers who lived among the rest of humans and who helped protect them. The main part of the message is about an alien character who lives as a hero on Earth.”

Castiel’s frown intensified. “A hero alien on Earth in ancient times?”

“Yeah.”

Castiel looked over, utterly confused, but Sam bore a gentle smile on his face and it did not seemed to be mocking. “Continue.”

“Well, basically,” Sam sighed, “it says that someone needs help.”

Castiel nodded, expecting more of an explanation, but none came. He glanced over to Sam. “Is that all you know?”

Sam kept staring forward, out into space.

“Ensign, if this mission is to be successful you will have to collaborate with me.”

“Right.” Sam glanced over. “You can call me Sam, you know.”

Castiel said nothing and continued frowning into space.

“I’d prefer it.”

  


 

There was a pause, and Castiel knew that this was an olive branch being extended. Because for Sam to collaborate with him, he too would have to collaborate with Sam. It was necessary to build a sense of camaraderie, especially when you have not previously fought with someone before, to properly cooperate in a mission such as this. Especially on such an unforgiving planet.

Socializing was a pain.

“Very well. Sam.”

“Great,” Sam grinned. “Now that that’s cleared up, there’s something you should know about me.”

“Is it that you have a past history of delinquency?”

“Hmm,” Sam hummed, “that’s the nicest way to put it, but yeah. You heard the rumours I guess?”

“Rumours? No. I looked at your records.”

“Oh.”

“I was impressed by your test scores and your performance in Starfleet Academy -”

“Thank you.”

“- of course, that doesn’t nullify your past history.”

Sam pursed his lips and gazed into space. “I know,” he quietly replied.

“But,” Castiel said, intensely focused on the empty space ahead of him, “I do... I understand that... We are not always given a choice.”

There was a small silence, comfortable even.

“I guess.” It felt melancholy.

Castiel glanced over. “The records were... vague on certain accounts.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah…”

“ _Your brother’s_ record on the other hand,” Castiel shook his head.

“He’s not a bad guy,” Sam said. “He’s just - it’s complicated.”

“He’s down on several counts of theft, black market trade, fraud -”

“Alright, alright!” Sam interrupted. “Look. You weren’t there,” he said, clearer and with more confidence than anything he’d said so far. He looked Castiel in the eyes and Castiel felt his self-righteous argument slip away.

He looked away. “Were you there?”

Sam shifted in his seat but said nothing on the subject. He looked down at his screen and hit a few keys, bringing up the planet’s map and the topography of their targeted landing zone, the one matching the sent coordinates.

“When we land we should head north.”

“Why north?” Castiel frowned. “Was that in the message?”

“Sort of. The yellow sun rises in the north on Crossruds.”

Castiel continued to frown. He looked over to Sam who shrugged. “Superman gets his powers from the sun.”

“Who?”

“It’s the uh... alien hero.”

“The alien hero living on Earth of ancient times is named super _man_..”

“Uh... Yeah.”

“You grew up to strange tales, Sam Winchester.”


	3. Rocks and Sand and Rocks and Sand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AND NOW DEAN APPEARS. Obviously his introduction to everyone is as graceful as in canon.

There wasn’t anything pleasant about walking for hours under not one - oh no - but _two_ frickin’ suns.

Dean had already had to shed his jacket to tie around his waist. His hat was gone, traded along with 2 strips of latinum for that probe’s message to be sent. He - and his burnt head - mourned its loss.

Dean finally reached the bottom of the cliffside he’d been aiming for and - grinning - he turned the corner and found glorious shade and let himself rest. He took a deep breath and suppressed the urge to cough it out. The air on Crossruds, always tended to smell like sulfur vomit. Especially when both suns were so high up. One of the side effects of having your resources mined out for decades and not having anybody care what happened to ya. The only benefit is that it helped blot out some of the sun. There was some medically negative points to it too. Severe and painful and debilitating disorders, probably neurogenic dampening, blahblahblah. Most people on Crossruds didn’t care. They didn’t expect to live long enough to have it bother them. Dean was no exception.

He pulled the strap of his bag over his shoulder and sat down in the cliff’s shade. His mouth was bone dry, but he needed to save his water rations, so he took out a strip of chewing gum. Apple flavoured.

Then he took the map out and started his calculations.

He’d been walking for about three hours; Solaris2 (the closer of the two suns whose rays better pierced the surface) was at near leveled angle to Solaris1; which meant he was sitting in the shade of… Hyuis Cliffs.

Dean sighed.

He had _hoped_ to make it to Rots Cliff by now. Which meant he’d be late in meeting Sam.

If he decided to come.

Which he will. He had to.

Dean didn’t let that thought carry on. Sam’s starship had been in the sector - oh mighty wheel of rumours and information don’t fail now - and if the probe had functioned properly, and if Sam had received the message, and if he’d been on route as soon as he did - well then he’d be landing within the hour.

And if not, well then he wouldn’t be, and there were a million excuses Dean could make up for that. Heck, that probe he’d programed might not’ve even been detected.

So he’d be without backup, but it’s not like he’s never gone solo before.

He took one more look at the map before packing it back up. He could keep on in the shade for a while before cutting through a rip in the cliff’s wall that’ll lead to a field of boulders. They’ll be a bitch to cut through but going around them would take too much time. And he’d used up enough getting to this point.

 

* * *

 

 

Castiel had insisted, insisted, they not land at the given coordinates. It would’ve been the easiest way to be attacked. Even if he did trust Sam Winchester and his... informant, which he didn’t, the probe could have easily been intercepted. The landing of a Federation vessel, or any vessel of decent quality, on Crossruds was not something to be advertised.

So they hadn’t landed exactly where they were supposed to land.

But they had the coordinates. They had a map of the area. They had their tricorders. And they worked their way over rock and sand towards the approximate location.

Sam flipped his tricorder on and scanned for lifeforms. “I’m detecting one uh... possibly a humanoid nearby. There’s too much interference to get a clear location or reading.” He sighed and shut his tricorder off.

Cas squinted down at his own device. “You’re right.” They were at the proper coordinates, it covered a range of one kilometer square. There were large boulders protruding the scenery and dips and peaks all around. It was impossible to see who might be around and where. “We should canvas the area,” he said and put his tricorder away.

“Split up?”

“Either direction could prove promising,” Castiel mused.

“Okay. Are you sure, sir?”

“Yes. We’ll maintain a range of no less than 200 meters. If any danger should arise we would be close enough to offer assistance. But odds are likely that should we find your contact, they should recognize that we are from Starfleet. Since they did contact a federation vessel, they’ll be expecting us.”

“Yeah I guess.”

Castiel gave him a nod. “Phasers set to stun.” They both took a few seconds to check their weapons and put their tricorders away. “Check?”

“Phasers set, check.”

“Communicator,” Castiel let his hand rest on his, comfortably set on his belt.

“Rodger.”

“Who?”

“Huh?”

“Who is Rodger?” he looked out into the rocky terrain behind him but saw no one. “Is he an associate you have here?”

“What?”

Castiel turned to him with narrowed eyes.

“No... that’s just... It’s an expression.”

“I see.”

Sam grimaced. “Let’s get to it, alright.”

“Alright.”

And they each started off in separate paths.

 

* * *

 

Dean knew. He spent his whole life training, he spent years on this planet, and he knew what signs to pick up. The change in the air, the smell, how the wind picked up - ever so slightly - the noise... He stilled behind his rock and listened. There was a slight thud, quiet but there, and then again. Someone was moving. Something.

This wasn’t a human.

Humans didn’t cause the air to spark like this. Humans didn’t walk like that. With such direct purpose but with such a light contact. Not in these conditions. Not on this planet.

Dean didn’t have time to analyze each of these factors. He just knew. The same way you know about a good melon. (Have you ever eaten a bad melon? It’s like condensed horse piss.)

And that’s why his first instinct was to grab his knife and jump onto whatever was approaching behind that rock.

The creature - man, humanoid at least - was taken by surprise. His attention was on some device which had been in his hand. It was thrown out of reach when Dean shouldered him, hard enough to knock him off balance. He had dark hair and broad hands which were reaching for a phaser - shit.

Dean advanced, knife raised, and the guy’s eyes jumped back to his - his hand shot out, grabbing Dean’s wrist and holding the knife an inch from his chest.

He was strong okay.

And he knew it, glaring at Dean with a pair of baby blues that didn’t give a shit.

And his uniform…

Dean paused, just a second, just long enough for some awareness to float through his mind - Starfleet. Sam. Not Sam - and then the man was twisting his hand.

Which fucking hurt okay.

So Dean released his knife.

And then - just as the grip on his hand was loosening, or maybe it was just before - Dean countered.

He took a step forward, using his left shoulder to tackle the man, and sticking his right foot behind the man’s own foot, tripping him over. Dean had him pinned down. His hand now free, Dean reached behind him for his own phaser and pushed it into the man’s face. He didn’t seem to care.

“I presume you are Sam Winchester’s contact.” The man had dark hair, messy now, and an expression much too stern and annoyed for someone who should be at his mercy. Which was probably why Dean couldn’t seem to look away.

“How do you know Sam.”

“Commander? DEAN NO!”

It was Sammy’s voice. His Sammy. He hadn’t heard or seen him in years - fucking years. Dean immediately looked up. “Sammy?”

He got a brief glimpse of green pants before the other man tackled him off. Thephaser was knocked aside and his back hit the ground hard before he could blink.

Castiel straddled him and set one arm across Dean’s neck, putting weight on his left shoulder and holding his other arm down with his free hand. He could breathe, easily, but there was enough of a presence for Dean to know he was in danger. Especially since his shoulder was being dug into. That would leave a mark.

The man’s face remained impassive, his eyes locked on Dean’s. And he was close. Damn close. Like, breath on your face close.

“Ensign Winchester,” he said with as much warmth as a Nautilican winter. “Is this him?”

Sam appeared behind him.

Sam.

His hair had grown.

“Heya Sammy,” Dean grinned. The man applied enough pressure for it to be choked away.

“Ensign.”

Well now he just sounded pissed.

“Yes sir,” Sam said. “This is he.”

“It is he,” Dean tried for a smirk, “Dean Winchester, pleasure to -” more pressure “- hey!”

His eyes fixed on Dean’s a moment longer, before finally releasing him and standing back up. He dusted himself off as Dean stood up, rubbing his shoulders.

He turned to Sammy and smiled wide. “Sammy.”

It’s been years - actual years. Man, it was good to see him.

Sam, though…

He shot the other man, the one in an actual Starfleet uniform, a remorseful look before looking Deanin the eye and giving him a tight lipped smile.

Dean swallowed.

“Good to see you made it through the Academy. Figured I’d find you in uniform.”

“Yeah uh. This isn’t an official mission so…” He looked away.

“Right,” Dean said. Made sense. No use tarnishing his uniform with this shit. His eyes drifted down to his fallen knife. He picked it up and turned to the stranger, his grin turned to something with less warmth, less heart. A polite dismissal. “Who are you again?”

“Lieutenant Commander Castiel Novak.”

“That’s nice. Are you like… Sammy’s boss or babysitter?”

“Dean -”

“What, I’m just asking.”

Castiel frowned and took a step forward. “We are in different departments but I do - clearly - outrank him.”

“Uh huh, whatcha in?”

“Security.”

“So, babysitter then.”

“I have never sat on any infant.”

Dean gave him a look, one nearly matching the confusion on Castiel’s face. Fortunately Sam interrupted. “He’s here to help.”

“Oh goodie,” Dean said with a sour grin. “Dragging strangers into our fun-fun times.”

“I’m guessing we could use it.”

And to this, Dean could not argue. So he bitterly pursed his lips and looked away.

“Come on, we got walking to do.”

“Dean -”

“I’ll explain on the way, alright. We’re losing daylight.” He didn’t give them a chance to argue. Just put his knife back and kept walking.


	4. Shelter From the Storm

Castiel was displeased. He was not thrilled when the mission details were explained to him on the ship. _Dean Winchester._

His record spoke for itself.

And it was far beyond Castiel’s comprehension as to why he should be granted help from anyone, least of all Starfleet officers - but that wasn’t his concern. His mission was to protect and aid Ensign Winchester, who was determined to head into this dangerous mission.

“He’s a good kid,” Commander Singer had explained, “but he’s as stubborn as they come, especially in regards to family.”

_It’s a family thing._

Castiel had restrained himself well enough from making any comments or any facial expressions. And for that, he felt like an accomplished and professional member of Starfleet. He held onto that sentiment as Sam had explained the _full_ situation on the shuttlecraft.

The message sent to the USS Persephone was from Dean. Dean Winchester. Known criminal, wanted by the federation, and other worlds. And it was about their father - whose own record was no better.

His only consolation was that Dean seemed just as unhappy to see him.

“Ya know,” Dean stopped walking and glared back, “if you keep your face like that, the wind’ll shift and it’ll get stuck.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes as he continued forward. “I don’t believe a change in meteorology can cause such a physiological change.”

Dean rolled his eyes and continued. “Whatever.”

They had been walking for a few hours now, Dean having been very brief in his explanation. That they would have time to rest and plan later - that they would be fools to waste good daylight and weather conditions on talk. Castiel could hardly disagree.

“Shit.” Dean’s attention was on the sky above, then turned north east, where a disturbance of sorts could be seen - a few clouds and violet coloured fog. “Crap, we gotta find cover.”

“What’s wrong?” Castiel asked, coming to a stop.

“Well -” Dean turned to him and stopped. “Uh…” His eyes roamed Castiel’s face and frowned. “Dude.”

Castiel frowned back, tilting his head slightly in confusion.

“Personal space?”

Castiel blinked and looked down, between himself and Dean. They were a few centimeters apart. His confusion deepened. “I… my apologies.” He said and stepped back.

“Right,” Dean looked him over, frown still in place. Castiel met it easily. He had not purposefully disturbed the man’s ‘personal space’. He had no recollection or awareness of approaching so... closely.

“Uh, Dean?” Sam hesitantly asked.

“Huh?” It snapped Dean out of whatever trance had pulled them under. Castiel blinked.

“Storm approaching?”

“Yeah,” he huffedand pointed east, “storm’s coming. We need someplace that’ll protect from lightning, sand, and critters. Trust me, you don’t want to see ‘em up close.”

“Are we in need of a specific rock composition?”

“Nah, all rocks here are good rocks.”

“There are some rock formations due west,” Castiel said, turning to look that way, “they appear to have the structural capabilities to form caverns.”

Sam nodded and started in that direction, but Dean stayed fixed in his spot offering him a funny look.

“What, did you memorize the map?”

“Not in detail.”

Dean gave him a look Castiel had some difficulty interpreting before nodding once and following Sam in the direction of the caverns.

The cavern was in fact an old mining tunnel. Or that’s how Castiel had read the map. It appeared to be in ruin. The ground surrounding the entrance was littered with rocks of all sizes, some had phaser burns on them. The entrance itself was decently sized for a humanoid to comfortably pass, so long as they were of a species who didn’t value height. Most concerning of all was the structural appearance.

“I don’t believe this would be a safe location to enter.”

Dean scoffed and shoved passed him. “Thought you Starfleet cadets were all about exploring the dangers of the galaxy?” He stopped by the edge of the entrance's collection of rocks, piled hazardously about. He grinned, "Don't worry, I'll keep you safe.” And then he winked.

Castiel bristled and took a furious step forward. “That’s Lieutenant Commander.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. He didn’t seem very intimidated though.

Sam wasn’t concerned with this exchange. He briefly looked between them before speaking up. “Lieutenant?”

“Yes, ensign,” Castiel said, without looking away.

“We’re about to lose the last of our visible daylight,” Sam said. “The storm’ll be here soon and we don’t have time to find another shelter.”

He was right.

Dean’s smirk grew wider. Castiel considered the obdurate option of blasting the cavern’s entrance and watching the weak structure fall in on itself. It was petulant and beneath him.

“Agreed.” He shot Dean one last glare before moving to climb into the cavern. Sam was a step ahead of him and was already dusting himself off by the time he got in.

The small entrance opened up, via a short corridor, to a large space with a high ceiling. It was cooler than outside, but not by much. The air still stank of burnt metal. And it was dark. The only source of (rapidly fading) light was from the cavern mouth. Castiel took a light out from his pack.

The ground, walls, and roof, appeared to have - at one point - been cut mechanically. It must have been one of the off-world mines. Build with extreme precisions for the highest levels of stability and security. But there were signs of cave-ins, fallen rocks and boulders, chunks from the roof landing, causing cracks and whatnot. Most of the structural damage was found closest to the opening.

“We should set up camp further into the cavern,” Castiel said, walking over to better examine the wall. There was a large crack, big enough to fit his fist through, and there were several phaser burn marks around it.

“Sounds good,” Dean said, having heaved himself into the cave. “You might want to stand back, Cas.”

“Why?”

He turned his head to look at Dean, his portable light remained fixed on the wall so it was only with dim lighting that he watched Dean Winchester raise his phaser and aim for a spot right above the fragile cavern’s opening.

“NO!”

And the shot was fired.


	5. A Polter By Any Other Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Injuries occur, but a bit of spit and elbow grease fixes that up.

 

The effect was as expected. The phaser discharged. The blast hit the rock. The rock crumbled, cracked - fell down. Dust everywhere. The fallen rock shook the ground. In the rumble of it, Castiel dropped his light. More rocks, from areas untouched by idiotic phaser blasting, crumbled and fell. They were small. Harmless really. One of them fell on and broke his light. But that was luck.

When the rocks settled, it was dark.

“Sammy, you okay?”

“Yeah, hold on.” A moment later a bright light appeared to Castiel’s left, away from what was once the entrance. Sam held his light out, shining it around until he found Castiel, “Commander, you alright?”

“I’m fine,” he snapped and stood back up. Eyes snapping to where Dean was last seen. Sam diligently followed with the light, finding his brother walking away from the myriad of rocks and stones that had crumbled from above, the light catching the dusty air as it struggled to settle down.

“You alright, Dean?”

“Yeah,” he grinned and stop next to Castiel. _He grinned._

“Are you insane?”

“Well that’s a tricky question now, isn’t it?” He put his phaser away and turned back to Sam, opening his mouth to speak. Castiel beat him to it.

“You could’ve brought down the entire cavern.”

“Don’t sweat it,” Dean turned back to look at him. “I’m a good shot.”

“This has nothing to do with perspiration - the entire cavern is structurally vulnerable.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you?” Castiel said with utter disgust.

Dean met his eye a moment, and it was odd - the significance a glance could have. There was an old Earth saying Castiel had read about when he was younger. Something about how the eyes were windows that painted portraits of your inner being. It never made any sense, of course. Eyes did not exist to showcase your most vulnerable inner self. It wouldn’t make any sense to expose something of such value in such an impotent fashion.

But there was something in Dean Winchester’s eyes.

Then they widened.

“Cas, don’t move.”

Castiel froze. “What is it?”

“Just don’t move,” he said, slowly taking out his phaser. “There’s a polter by your head.”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“It’s not a friend, now shut up.” His gaze remained fixed on something to Castiel’s right, on the wall behind him. “Sammy.”

“I see it.” From his position, Sam could shine the light to hit Castiel at slight angle from his front, avoiding Dean’s position. “That crack there,” Sam kept his voice low, “must be some sort of den.”

“Yeah I see it,” Dean said. He licked his lips and then said, “Okay Cas. You gotta listen to me, now. You know how to roll drop?”

“Of course.”

“Good. Good, so I need you to start to take a slow step that way,” he flicked his eyes to Castiel’s left, “and then drop and roll away. I’ll fire on it. Alright?”

“Alright.”

And that’s what he did. Lifting his right foot, slowly, just barely off the ground and shifting it forward, into the necessary position... And then he dropped down, hitting the ground and rolling on his shoulder, he was back on his knees and twisted around in a fraction of a second, his phaser in hand. Dean had already fired his shot, the sound echoing across the chamber, and had backed away from the wall which was still illuminated.

“I got it,” he said after a moment and cautiously stepped forward to examine the creature. Castiel stood up, phaser still out and poised to fire, and approached. Dean looked up, putting his phaser away, and gesturing to it. “It’s dead.”

Castiel frowned down at creature. It had 6 legs covered in soft black spikes, an elevated head, covered in scales, with a wide set of eyes, and fangs emerging from its mouth. “That’s a neruda.”

“A what?”

“A neruda.”

Dean gave him a funny look. “It’s a polter.”

“I am adept in exobiology and I guarantee you that that is a neruda,” Castiel said as Sam approached from behind. “And it is not native to Crossruds. It should not be here.” This was not in the federation database.

“Yeah well, they imported a few years ago and boom. They’re fucking everywhere. Sammy,” Dean said, turning to his brother, “would you tell your babysitter what a polter is.”

“Well,” Sam gave a slight shrug, “actually the official classification calls them nerudas.”

“What? Since when?”

“Always? They’re native to the planet Selay and the population there calls them nerudas.”

Dean stared at his brother a moment with the barest hint of accusation before turning away. “Whatever.”

“We should seal up the cracks and inspect the area for more,” Sam said, using his light to look over the crack, he took a few steps back to get better view. “If we jam a few small rocks in it and discharge a few high level phaser shots it should melt the rocks enough to form a seal.”

“Right,” Dean said, and looked down. He started to move, to go pick a few rocks off the ground, but looking down he froze. “Sammy.”

“Yeah?”

“Shut your light.”

“What?”

Castiel eyes dropped to where Dean’s were. While the shot and killed neruda was lying motionless a few meters away, there were 3 very live ones by Dean’s feet.

“Do it, ensign.”

Nerudas were not typically found in open fields. They preferred caverns, tree nooks, and densely forested areas (the kind that obstructed most of a sun’s rays). But they didn’t shy away from the light when it could be found. They went to it. Most of their natural prey (on their home world) were bioluminescent. So any light source duller than the sun was giant neon sign and it called to them, like sharks to blood. They also loved heat. It tended to signal food as well.

Sam shut his light and darkness took over.

“Dean,” Castiel said, “don’t move.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

“Shut up.” He pulled his phaser. His eyes adjusted fast enough, faster than a regular human anyway. One of the nerudas had advanced onto Dean’s foot, but the other two didn’t seem too interested in him, they were inspecting one another. Probably mates. Castiel took aim and fired on them. Two quick shots and they were dead.

Dean stiffed a grunt. The neruda on his foot had advanced.

Nerudas were generally deadly to most humanoids. They secreted a liquid which coated the sharp quills on their 6 legs. It was poisonous. And their bite was nothing to be trifled with.

When Castiel had fired his shot, it had moved over to Dean’s leg, claws digging into his pants, and had quickly reached his chest where it stopped. Its quills were up.

Dean was staying calm, perfectly still, and breathing as softly as possible to not agitate the creature on his chest. He was doing gre- adequate.

A direct hit from his phaser would kill it. But it would most likely dig a few quills into Dean’s chest. And, given its position, the poison could hit his heart. A small amount, in such a location, could lead to dangerous and undesired consequences…

“Dean. You need to put your hand on your abdomen.”

Dean’s eyes snapped up to where Castiel was, a very clear and unspoken objection was present.

“We need to move the neruda away from your heart.”

Dean’s eyes must have adjusted because he was looking directly into Castiel’s. It was another few seconds before he finally moved his hand. The neruda didn’t wait long. It turned away and scampered onto Dean’s hand. Castiel immediately took the shot.

“FUCK.”

“Dean?!”

“You can turn the light back on.”

Sam did, and immediately rushed over to Dean who was cringing, holding his injured left hand with a tight grip from his right.

“Fuck.”

“Are you alright?” Castiel asked.

“I’ll live,” Dean snapped back angrily.

“Dean!” Sam said, reaching his brother. “Did it sting you?” He used his light to go over Dean, taking time to examine his hand. He was quite concerned. Castiel was left standing, staring, and it twisted something inside him. He swallowed it down.

“Just a few pins, I’ll be fine.”

“Fine?! Oh that’s nice.” Sam said, “And when exactly were you going to mention that they started importing nerudas?!”

“I was gonna.”

“You were _gonna_.” Sam snarled. “What - you didn’t feel that pertinent information? By the way guys, we’ll be hiding out in a cave probably infested with poisonous creatures.”

“Sam -”

“You’re really starting to take after him aren’t you?”

“Who?”

“Dad.”

At this Dean paused. He was obviously in pain, swallowing it down the best he could, but for a moment it didn’t seem to matter.

“And how would you know?”

“Doesn’t take a genius to see it. You call for a favour but you can’t seem to able to share fucking critical information.”

“Well excuse me - I thought Starfleet was the highest source of intelligence in this quadrant. Maybe you need me to explain electrical ion storms and how to make shelter for them,” he gestured to the caved-in entrance.

“Yeah, cuz putting up a tarp-force field is such a crude and boring way to go about it,” Sam returned. “Hey maybe you’d prefer if I just stand behind you, on attention, ready to get whatever order you give - I mean that’s what you’re looking for, right? You don’t want anyone else _involved_ \- you just want a soldier to carry on -”

Castiel fired his phaser on a boulder a few meters away. The rock absorbed the energy, glowing a soft red and dissipating the rest off as heat.

That shut him up.

Both brothers turned away from each other and towards Castiel.

“To prevent any more possible neruda attacks, I suggest we work now to secure the area. Your bickering can wait.”

They both seemed remorseful enough, awkwardly shuffling and looking away.

“Ensign, you check the surrounding areas.”

“Back should be sealed off,” Dean said. “These kinds of caves open up to this sort of meeting room then head into a corridor that lead to the tunnels. But they haven’t been used in years and anyone else who’s used this place would’ve sealed it. Probably.”

Castiel nodded. “Good,” he turned to Sam, “ensure it remains sealed. Dean and I will cover this crack.” He fired his phaser to another nearby boulder. “We’ll use that as a source of light and to distract any nerudas.” They would choose a warm and bright boulder over humanoids.

“Alright.” Sam threw one last look to Dean before walking off with his light.

The area darkened, leaving only the faint red glow of a few rocks. Castiel immediately turned to the crack. It wouldn’t take more than two or three rocks to fill it. He bent down to pick a few up, taking care to watch his surroundings.

“You should sit down.”

“I’m fine,” Dean said.

“No, you’re not,” Castiel said. “A few pins would be enough to paralyze most humanoids, depending on the location.” He stood back up with some rocks. “Sit down. You can keep watch of my surroundings while I work.”

This seemed to be argument enough and Dean hobbled over to a nearby larger boulder, grunting as he sat down.

“Keep your arm elevated,” Castiel said, making quick work to place the rocks in the larger areas of the crack.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

He stood back, raised his phaser, and fired a series of shots. The area glowed a hot, dark red, and the rocks fused together. Once it cooled there shouldn’t be any space for a neruda to cross through. Castiel put his phaser away and turned to his attention to Dean.

He bent down on his knees and gently took Dean’s arm, moving his hand closer.

“Careful -”

“I won’t hurt you.”

“No… just... Don’t touch it - you might -”

“Shhh,” Castiel said in a soft tone. “Do you still have sensation in your arm?”

“Yeah.”

“What about your fingers?”

He hesitated, licking his lips. “No.”

“Where does it stop?”

“Just after the wrist. After that it’s just… on fire.”

“Alright.”

Castiel let go with his right, and reached for his phaser. Dean sucked in a breath and swallowed.

“Are you gonna zap it off?”

Castiel frowned. “Zap what?”

“My hand.”

“Of course not.” He aimed at the rock, whose light was beginning to dim and shot it, and two others, a few times. Then he put his gun down.

Dean was confused.

“Isn’t it gonna infect me?”

Castiel ignored him.

“Keep your breathing steady.”

“Okay.”

“And don’t speak,” he said. “We need to keep your heart rate down.”

Dean didn’t reply, eyes on Castiel, so he counted it as a victory. Using his left hand to keep Dean’s steady, he grabbed the pins and -

“What are you -?” Dean tried to jerk his hand away.

Castiel tightened his own grip and pulled his hand closer.

“Ow.”

“Quiet.” He grabbed the pins, firmly, pulled them out and threw them away. It was difficult to tell in the cavern’s glow, but the damage seemed minimal. The pins hadn’t hit any major arteries and their size seemed comparable to not-fully mature nerudas. Still - Castiel was relieved. Because it was his duty. On this mission. To ensure the Winchesters’ safety.

“You’ll be alright,” he said, looking up to Dean who tried very hard to offer a nonchalant shrug.

“I know.”

Castiel shook his head, gently moving over the infected area to check for any other abrasions or smaller pins. Then, gathering as much as he could, he spit in Dean’s hand.

“Hey!”

Castiel held his hand in place. “I said to stay quiet.”

He glared at him and Dean glared back, for a while. Then he blinked and glanced at his hand, the saliva taking effect.

“There is an enzyme present in my saliva,” he explained, now holding Dean’s hand, spreading it around, “which will counter most of the poison’s effect.” He massaged the palm which had endured most of the contact.

“You should be getting some feeling back soon.”

“Yeah…”

Castiel glanced up to find Dean much more relaxed, much calmer.

“I mean yeah. That... that feels better.”

“Good,” Castiel said with the shadow of a smile. Dean’s mouth quirked slightly. He licked his lips. “So are you like… immune?”

“Not exactly. It is an uncommon enzymatic combination, but it can... occur.”

“Lucky you,” Dean grinned.

Castiel looked back down. “Yes. Lucky me.”

 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bet you thought the 'spit and elbow grease' summary was metaphorical.
> 
> LOOK AT THAT FUCKING GIF THO.  
> DID I NOT TELL YOU THAT [entirely-the-wrong-sort ](http://entirely-the-wrong-sort.tumblr.com/post/153525317010/my-artwork-for-finding-rocket-man-link-when) WAS FUCKING AMAZING.


	6. Sum of Our Parts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some plot and back story is FINALLY explained. Took me long enough to get here eh *shrug*

 

John Winchester was happy 22 years ago. He was an engineer in Starfleet, doing good work and getting recognized for it. He had a beautiful brilliant wife, a young wonderful son, and a healthy new born baby.

If you got him drunk, got him to forget the aftermath, he’ll tell you how perfect everything was. How happy they were.

Time had a way of blurring what you’d rather forget, of softening the rough edges that might otherwise cut into your heart.

It was all lost one night when the USS Kansas was attacked.

Lieutenant Commander Mary Winchester, head of security, had been the one to detect the intruders. She warned the ship, fought them off, and managed to give enough time for most everyone to escape. She never made it off the ship and John never forgot it.

He wanted revenge, demanded justice, and received bureaucratic empathy.

It wasn’t enough.

He lost faith. In Starfleet, in their promise for protection, among other things. He spent years traveling from one world to another, hunting for information, doing odd jobs for food and clothes when his kids grew, and finally - finally, he learned the truth.

He learned who was responsible for what had occurred.

 

* * *

 

“What do you mean you aren’t eating?” Dean seemed to take this as a personal offense. Which didn’t make any sense, in Castiel’s opinion. “You can’t just not eat.”

He was holding a satchel of berries in one hand and a small, battered old pot in the other. He had easily accepted Castiel’s refusal to eat a nutri-bar last night. Perhaps fatigue had been to blame. This morning (morning despite the lack of sunlight) he had seemed better, more refreshed. What little poison had entered his system should have been flushed out. Castiel had still insisted on giving him a hypo-spray, on top of the one from last night, and that was when Dean had announced he would prepare a true Crossruds breakfast.

“I can.”

Dean straightened his posture and his confusion turned to a glare. “So what, you’d rather starve than eat this shit?”

“I will not starve.”

“Oh sure, you got your Starfleet super bars -”

“They hold the required nutrients and proteins for a balanced diet.”

“And they taste like dirt.”

Castiel cocked his head. “Have you eaten much dirt?”

Dean blinked at him. “I can’t even tell if you’re being serious or trying to challenge me.”

“What could I be challenging you to do?” Castiel frowned.

Dean pointed the pot he held in his direction, “I kicked your ass last time.”

“You never touched me ass.”

Dean did not have an immediate response. Sam, who had been quietly checking the caved-in entrance’s integrity, cleared his throat.

“Sammy, will you tell your Commander that my cooking is better than your fleet-bars crap.”

“They are not called fleet-bars.”

“Sammy.”

“So,” Sam said avoiding eye contact, “I think the wall’s secure -”

“I am not _doubting_ your culinary skills, Dean,” Castiel sighed, and looked down, folding his hands together. “I simply do not require food at the moment and it would be best to save any we have for you and Sam.”

“How do you ‘not require food’, you’re human aren’t you!”

“No.”

“What?”

“I am not human.” Dean did not immediately respond to this either, but it felt… There seemed to be an added pressure to this silence. Castiel looked up at Dean who was offering a look riddled with suspicion. Which was something Castiel was accustomed to.

“You look human.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes. The words were not said with spite or detest. Which was… good.

“What are you?”

“I am of Celestar.”

Dean shook his head, “Never heard of it.”

Castiel nodded. “It exists.”

“Alright, sure. So Celestarians can’t eat?”

“Food is required but less regularly than for humans. Our physiological systems are more efficient at utilizing what we intake.”

Dean narrowed his eyes at him. “Whatever.” He turned away and marched on, with his berries and pot to the fire. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

Castiel decided not to answer that quirk. Whether or not he was aware of what he was missing made no difference. Obviously.

Dean had settled his old pot - full of berries and a few small salt-rocks - on a bed of rocks he had collected. He place a few more by the pot, crowding it and then he stood back up -

“Fire in the hole!”

\- and fired his phaser on them. The rocks burned a soft glow. Dean bent down and, finding the temperature acceptable, backed away and sat back down on his rock just as Sam was returning from his inspection of the caved-in entrance.

“So?”

“Well,” Sam said, “I think the storm’s dissipating. We should be able to leave in another hour or two max.”

“Great,” Dean smiled, settling back.

“In the meantime.” Sam turned to give him a significant look. Dean just blinked at him. Sam sighed. “What’s going on, Dean?”

“Oh, right,” Dean said, “Well it’s… you want the short version?”

“It’s Dad, isn’t it?”

Dean straightened his posture and spared a glance to Castiel before replying. “Maybe.”

“What happened?”

“Dad- he hasn’t touched base in a few days.”

“What else is new?”

“This is different.”

“How?” It came out sharp and jagged. “How is this any different from the hundred of other times he’d leave and -” Sam cut himself off and his eyes shot over to Castiel before dropping to the ground.

“This is different,” Dean said again, and leaned forward. “We got this lead, a few weeks back. Big one. There was a fork in the road and Dad sent me off to check one side out. It was a dead end so I went to meet up with him. But I couldn’t find him. No messages in the usual spots. So I followed his lead best I could and…”

“And what?” Sam said, edging forward in his seat.

“And I think he found him.”

“Him?”

“Him.”

The brothers gazed in awe, Sam in disbelief - no, fear? Relief?

Castiel really wasn’t one to appraise human emotions.

“Who is him?” He asked.

Dean shot him an annoyed look, as if he’d interrupted something. “Yellow eyes.”

“Yellow eyes?”

“Yeah,” Dean said. And when Castiel continued to stare in confusion he rolled his eyes.

“Ever heard of the USS Kansas?”

“Of course,” Castiel frowned in concentration. “It was boarded and attacked by an unknown assailant. The majority of crew and passengers escaped due to the actions of the security crew -” he paused. “Headed by Mary Winchester.”

Dean gave a weak smile, eyes fixed on the pots. They seemed sad, but were tinted with... something…

Castiel blinked.

“The strategy she utilized is required reading for on-board tactical training.”

“Yeah...” Sam agreed.

“She was your mother?”

“Can’t get anything pass you,” Dean spat back.

“I don’t understand what this has to do with the current situation.”

“Everything.”

Castiel frowned at him. “Does this have something to do with the assailants of the USS Kansas?”

Dean rolled his eyes.

“Yes,” Sam replied instead. “One of the few transmissions that uh... that was sent out before contact was lost was a description of the assailant. They were strong, without mercy, unlike any known species, and their eyes glowed yellow in the light.”

Castiel nodded.

He remembered that.

“Your father was… hunting the ship’s assailant?”

“Somebody had to,” Dean muttered, eyes still fixed on the pot.

“Yes,” Sam replied. “He was... intent on finding out who it was. Why they attacked. What they wanted.”

“And to stop ‘em from doing it again,” Dean said. He raised his eyes and stared - glared back at Castiel.

“That is a... noble aim.”

“Yeah, isn’t it?” Dean huffed a breath.

Castiel tilted his head. It seemed to be enough of a question for Dean.

“I just think,” Dean sneered, “this is a mess you all should’ve recognized years ago.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean Yellow Eyes is a bit of a growing issue and it’s been underground for the past 20 years, growing roots all over the place and now - now it’s finally ready to head to the surface.”

Castiel frowned at him. “Is this a botanical crisis?”

“What?”

Castiel tilted his head again.

“No. It’s a metaphor.”

“What is yellow eye?”

“Yellow eyes is the main visible symptom. So,” he shrugged, “that’s what we’ve been calling it.”

“Are you saying this is a biological disorder?”

“It’s more than a disorder, it’s a - it’s a weapon.”

“A weapon? How?”

“We’re still not sure how it gets transmitted, but what we do know is that once you do catch it, you change. Your eyes go yellow, but that’s the least of it. Something... _happens_ to you. People suddenly get this hive mind plan, and they just - they know what to do, what they’re meant to do for whoever it is that’s in charge. And none of it is good. They can act like anyone else, but then they’ll do - they’ll do all sorts of crap and they don’t even care what happens to them. Some of them get stronger too. Bullets and phasers barely affect them, they just walk it off.”

“Why hasn’t Starfleet encountered them?”

“You have,” Dean said, looking up at him. “You just never dug into that one. After the Kansas, their attacks stayed quiet. Going to small settlements or non-Federation planets.‘Course,” he looked back down, “most of the time there aren’t any witnesses left.”

Castiel took a moment to process this information. He hadn’t heard of any investigations into any sort of new biological disorder - or warfare. If true, it would be disastrous. But the notion that something of such power, that something of such weight could go undetected by Starfleet seemed… unlikely…

“See that, Sammy,” Dean said with a smirk. “I’ll bet that’s the same kind of response you got.”

“Dean -”

“You knew about this?” Castiel asked.

“Well,” Sam shifted on his rock, “I knew some of it.”

“Ensign,” Castiel said, straightening his shoulders, “if you had information and reason to believe a biological weapon was being tested and used, you had a responsibility to bring this information forward for investigation.” Had he any feathers they’d be ruffled.

“With all due respect, sir,” Sam said, “I did.”

“And?”

“I was told Starfleet was investigating the issue. But that was over 4 years ago.”

“I see.”

“I was also told it was a classified investigation.”

Castiel looked at him. Sam shrugged.

“Well then,” Castiel looked down at the fire and folded his hands together. “Starfleet must either be still investigating the situation, or they have found evidence of its falsity.”

“Oh please,” Dean said, eyes rolling. “Are you really going to believe everything they tell you?”

“Why, should I believe everything you tell me?”

“Fair enough.” Dean looked at him and licked his lips. “You know, you don’t have to help out.”

“I am here to protect Sam.”

“Sam’s a big boy. And he’s got me,” Dean opened his arms up, with a challenging grin. Castiel narrowed his gaze as Dean continued, “Nobody asked you here.”

“Are you really going to refuse my assistance?”

“Of course not!” Sam spoke in his place. Dean said nothing. His eyes dropped back to the pot, the glow of the rocks now nearly dissipated, as Sam continued. “Sir, Commander, please just - ignore him. He’s had a negative relationship with Starfleet for - well, forever.”

Dean scoffed.

“ _Dean_ , I’m sure would be grateful for your help,” Sam continued to speak to him, though the message seemed directed elsewhere. “Because I’m sure the situation could use a highly skilled and intelligent Starfleet officer with years of tactical experience.” Sam finished this by turning to glare at his brother.

“Gee Sam, if you’re gonna flirt with the guy can’t you wait ‘til we get out of this cave? Ain’t too interested in seeing or hearing that.”

“Dean.”

“Whatever,” Dean said, standing back up and moving to his pot of berries. “Should be about ready.”

“Where’s your father now?” Castiel asked. Dean had his back turned to him and bent down to inspect his culinary attempt. He shrugged. “Is he to meet up later on?”

“Not exactly,” Dean said, using his sleeve as a glove to pick up his pot. “See, there’s a small town of missionary like folks not far from here. They aren’t exactly a consistently stable crew, but I’ve made uh, connections with a few of them.”

“Missionaries?”

“They perform plenty of other positions too,” Dean smirked. It was lewd and quickly faded.

Castiel frowned.

“The lead Dad was following was supposed to cross paths with a frequent flyer of theirs - so it made sense that he’d have passed through.” He set the pot down and sat back in front of it. “Asked around, and sure enough, they said he passed through a few days before.”

“Did you interrogate his lead?” Castiel asked, watching as he pulled the cover off and steam billowed out.

“Nope.”

“Why not?” Castiel said.

“Kinda hard to question a dead man.”

“Who was it?” Sam asked.

“Remember Jim Murphy?” Dean asked, pulling a spoon from his pack and stirring his berries. They had turned to mush. A deep purple mush, from the light in the cave.

“Pastor Jim?” Sam said, crestfallen.

“Yup,” Dean said, avoiding his brother’s eye. “They slit his throat. And then wrote JW in blood above his head.”

Sam didn’t reply.

“Those are your father’s initials,” Castiel finally said. “You think it was a message for him?”

Dean nodded, then pulled out two bowls from his pack and loaded some berry-mush into one.

“And you have reason to believe this message was sent by the Yellow Eyes.”

“Yup,” he said, sitting forward and stretching to hand Sam a bowl of berry-mush and spoon. “I have very good reasons to believe it.”

Castiel nodded. “Alright.”

Dean looked up at him. He seemed surprised. “Yeah?”

Castiel shrugged. “Yes?”

This seemed to please him. Dean grinned, glancing over to Sam with a pleased (and smug) look. “Hey,” he said back to Castiel, “you want some?”

“What?”

He held up the second bowl, now filled with a few spoonfuls of berry-mush. Castiel stared at them.

“Smells good, huh?” His eyes snapped back to Dean’s. “Tell you what, I’ll let you take a taste,” he winked, “see how you like it.”

Castiel frowned at him. Arrogant.

Then he stretched his arm out to hand the bowl over. Castiel stared at the bowl, then up to Dean, expectantly, then back to the bowl. He took it. Mostly because not taking the food offering would be considered rude. Maybe alien cultures view food as something of great value. The giving and the taking of it hold great value - though Castiel couldn’t remember it being of such import to humans.

“So what else you find out?” Sam said, a small smile tugging his lip as Castiel took a tentative spoonful of berry-mush. It wasn’t bad.

“I got a location,” Dean grinned, picking up the now cooled pot, which still had some berry-mush in it, and sitting back down, his back against a rock.

“Location?”

“A current location.”

“What?” Sam said, mouth full. “How?”

“C’mon Sammy,” he said, turning his attention to the pot of mush before him, “man’s gotta have his secrets.”

Sam stared at him in consternation. “Fine,” he said, resigned.

“It’s still a few hours walk from here, but we should get there with daylight to spare if we leave soon.”

“Good,” Castiel said, stuffing more mush into his mouth. It had a pleasantly bitter taste.

“You think Dad’s there?” Sam said, quietly.

“Probably. I know he has the same intel.”

“And as soon as he did, he went after them.”

Dean shrugged and stuffed his mouth.

“He should’ve waited for you.”

“Saaam,” Dean whined, exasperated, with a full mouth. This was clearly an unresolved issue, even Castiel could see that.

“We should focus on the situation at hand,” Castiel said. “If your father did find a vital location of the Yellow Eyes -”

“Probably Azazel,” Dean interrupted, “he’s in charge of most things in this sector.”

“Alright,” Castiel said, “Azazel and the Yellow Eyes -” Dean chuckled “- then he will likely require assistance.”

Sam nodded, eyes dropping to the ground. “You think he’s okay?”

Dean took a beat to answer. “I don’t know.”

Sam nodded again before standing up and collecting Castiel’s bowl. “We should get going.”


	7. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I mean the chapter title is pretty explanatory no?

 

They walk for hours. Hours.

  
  


 

It’s exhausting and nothing much happens. The one thing of note would be when they stopped for a quick snack and rest around mid-day. Sam pulled his boot off - to re-adjust his sock - and when he put his boot down it nearly ran off, carried away by a rabbfot (fluffy bastards). Cas spooked it with a well-aimed rock toss, while Dean doubled over laughing, and saved the day (boot).

Eventually - finally - they make it to Solar Hill. The ‘Hill’ being more of a mountainside cliff with a single opening to one of Azazel’s hideouts. Solar Hill had one particularly interesting feature about it - while the suns were up, it was constantly and completely illuminated. No shadows. This was great for solar energy generators and for keeping guard on any approaching enemy. The area facing the entrance had long since been cleared of most large boulders, so there wasn’t any cover when approaching it.

They hid further off, where some rock formations had remained.

“I’d say we got another hour, hour and a half, ‘til the sun sets,” Dean said.

Cas nodded sitting down, his back to the rock Dean was peering over. Sam sat on his other side, pulling his pack off. He took out a canister of water and took a generous gulp from it.

“Water?”

Dean twisted back around and held his hand out. Sam handed him a bottle, “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Sam said and turned to peek out from his rock. “Looks like they got a couple guards out. Must be the right place.”

“Yup,” Dean said before turning to Castiel, canister extended.

“I’m alright.”

“Seriously,” Dean frowned at him. There was no way this guy wasn’t dehydrated. But when he looked him over, there was nothing to prove he was lying. His breathing was normal, his lips were dry but they were dry before and they kept their soft - Dean blinked. “What are you a camel?”

“I don’t see how I would fit such a characterization.”

“We just hiked a desert and you’re not thirsty.” Cas cocked his head, going all squinty eyes-like as Dean continued. “That’s pretty… camel..ly.”

“I’ve been keeping myself suitably hydrated so as to not achieve a level of thirst that might compromise my mental or physical capacities.”

“Oh.”

“Which wasn’t difficult because my physiological demands for hydration are much less than those of the average human.”

“Alright quit bragging.” Dean said, closing the canister. “We should figure a plan of attack.”

“I’m gonna scout over to the east edge.”

“Wait,” Sam said, sitting back down, “here.” He held out his communicator.

“What are you nuts?”

“What?” Sam frowned.

“They have the tech to monitor basic communication.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “They won’t be checking in for Starfleet’s frequency.”

“Sam is correct; it would be a waste of time and energy for them to do so.”

“Well as reassuring as your hypothesis is -” Dean started but suddenly cut off. He froze.

Something was wrong.

Dean reached for his phaser, his eyes roaming the area around them. There were several rocks and boulders and, about a hundred meters over to their left, a split in the ground that gave way to lower level.

Shit. How’d he miss that?

Sam and Cas had already stilled and pulled their phasers out. He glanced at Cas and him nodded towards the crevice then over towards Sam.

Cas nodded then signaled over his head to Sam, while Dean kept an eye and phaser trained on the hole.

The crevice seemed like a good hidden spot but there wasn’t any easy way to come out of it and towards their location. If there was anyone there though, they’d have a great place to shoot them from.

Cas glanced over to catch Dean’s eye, signaling him, then he snuck off with Sam to circle around and get on level with the crevice’s bottom. Dean held his position, phaser trained on the crack. After a few minutes, he crept over towards it.

The ground slanted down for a dozen or so meters, he moved as quietly as possible, but it’d be hard for anyone to miss the sudden cut in dialogue.

When he reached it, the chasm was empty. He stood ready, phaser up, eyes scanning the corners and depths before them. But it was empty. Not even a trace of a polter in sight. Which was a great relief.

Dean was just about to lower his weapon when he heard the footsteps behind him. He spun around, ready to fire, but lowered his weapon immediately.

“Dad.”

 

* * *

 

When Castiel and Sam had circled over to the crevice’ - which was much deeper than expected - they found nothing and no one. There wasn’t any way to signal this to Dean, not without shouting and possibly alerting unwanted attention, so after searching the immediate area they headed back. They hadn’t heard any phaser fire, but Castiel couldn’t deny a certain sense of relief once they turned that corner and he spotted Dean safe and whole. Upon noting he wasn’t alone - a sharp sense of alert panic also emerged.

Dean’s own posture was tense. He didn’t appear to be in imminent danger, but nothing about him felt comfortable.

Castiel took a step forward to cover his ensign, holding one hand out to stop their movement while the other raised a phaser. He was about to shout a warning, to demand an explanation when he heard Sam’s voice behind him.

“Dad.”

Castiel relaxed his pose, minutely, at the ache and relief in his tone. He dropped his hand, letting Sam push forward towards the man, and lowered his phaser, keeping it in hand.

“Sam,” the man nearly smiled but his gaze bounced from Sam to Castiel and hardened. The man said, eyeing Castiel with a level of distrust Castiel did not appreciate. He straightened his stance.

The man, John Winchester if he was indeed Sam’s father, looked him over again, then, dismissing his presence, took a step to Sam, and gave him a hug, a warm smile on his face. Castiel looked away, looking over to Dean who had stopped by the turn in the passage, letting his father pass ahead of him.

He seemed... tense. Which was curious. He had been so worried, so concerned about his father. He should be relieved. Content. Castiel frowned at him, cocking his head and taking a step forward, but Dean’s gaze was fixed upon his father and brother. So he turned to watch them as well.

“It’s good to see you, Sam.”

“Dad,” Sam breathed in relief, then took a step back, “what happened?”

“That’s a long story, son. I’ll get into it another time, but right now, the suns’re about to set.”

“Yeah, we were waiting for sundown too.”

“I know, Dean told me.”

“Dad, what’s going on?”

John shook his head, and sighed. He shot a glance back to Castiel, then another, no less accusatory, to Dean. “I can’t go into details.”

Castiel bristled. Had he any feathers, they would surely be on edge. This man, this criminal, who they had come all this way to rescue - who had been missing for months - was upset at them.

“Sam, listen to me,” John said. “Is your ship still intact?”

“’Course.”

“Great. I want you and,” he looked Castiel over, “your friend to get on it and get as far away as you can.”

“What - Dad, no -”

“Listen to me, Sam. If you want to help, you’ll do as I say.”

“What about you, what about Dean?”

“Don’t worry about me. And Dean is gonna escort you to your ship.”

“Dad -”

“Sam! We don’t have time to argue and I can’t be doing what I need to do if I’m going to be worrying about you, or Dean, getting hurt.”

“You’re gonna go in there? Alone?” Sam stepped back, the warmth, the fondness evidenced only seconds ago, now melted into frustration, anger. “That’s suicide!”

“There’s no time for that - look, Sam, the sun’s are setting in 40 minutes. That’s just enough time for you two to go find some cover for the night.”

“ _What about you?_ ” Sam insisted, an edge to his voice.

“Don’t worry about me.”

“Just tell us what’s going on.”

“Sam -”

“Dean said you were missing.” Sam gestured to his brother, who looked down, jaw tensing, “That you might’ve found out something big about Yellow Eyes. We’re here to help, Dad. This is what we’re supposed to do.”

“Sam, it’s too dangerous.”

“So you just want to go alone? You expect us to just to stand here and do nothing?”

“This isn’t the time.”

“It’s never the time!”

“I have a deadline to meet and you shouldn’t even be here. _Dean_ shouldn’t have contacted you,” he said looking at Dean, “and he certainly shouldn’t have gotten Starfleet involved.” He spared Castiel a glare of his own.

“We were called to help,” Castiel spat back. “And given the situation, I believe you could use the assistance.”

“Is that right?” John turned fully to Castiel. “Is that what you’re here to do? Help me out? Tell me _Lieutenant Commander_ , where was Starfleet two years ago when the colony on Provenance was wiped out?”

“That was a civil dispute. Starfleet has no jurisdiction -”

“A dispute? That’s a nice way to put it,” John huffed, humourlessly. “Then how about the break out that happened Retomort?”

Castiel clenched his fists. This man had no right to hold him - to hold Starfleet responsible for the misfortunes of the galaxy. They were not omnipresent and even if they were it was not their place to rule over the culture of others, to choose what was best for a people.

John turned to Dean. “Dean, you get everyone out and safe. Take care of Sam. Is that understood?”

“Yes sir.” Dean brushed past Castiel who continued to glare daggers at John, “C’mon.”

Cas narrowed his eyes once more before walking past John and collecting his things.

The matter being settled, John took off, refusing any further inquiries from Sam.

“He’s always doing this,” Sam growled once their father had disappeared.

“Sam.”

“He is! He always was. Why do you always let him?” Sam said, turning on Dean. “Why do you always let -?”

“Ensign.” Castiel stepped forward. “This is neither the time nor the place to start such an argument.”

Sam fidgeted in place, “Sir, with all due respect, this is a family matter.”

“Wrong,” Castiel said. “This may be your family, but you are a Starfleet officer and I am not only your superior, but I am here to ensure your safety,” he narrowed his eyes.

“Sir.”

“You are endangering yourself and those in your surroundings, you are endangering the mission.”

“The mission -”

“The mission is not completed until we are back on the Persephone, or are you forgetting what planet you’re on?”

Sam glared back at him, but he seemed relatively calmer. “Sir.”

“I’m sure there is a poignant reason for your behaviour but now is not the time to allow emotions to cloud your senses. We are in the field, ensign. This is not training, this is not a family excursion - your actions have consequences that shall reflect upon your name and upon Starfleet. Is that understood?”

Sam clenched down, all but glaring - frustrated but apologetically. Sam’s quarrel was not with Castiel. He nodded.

“Good.”

“What now, sir?” Sam said, tersely.

“Our mission was to locate John Winchester. We have. He seems to have superior knowledge of the present situation. To intervene would only cause chaos and endanger all parties involved,” Castiel said, he glanced over at Dean for confirmation of sorts. He remained sullen.

“Great,” Dean said, “let’s get going.” He walked past them, shoving Castiel as he went.

 

* * *

 

 

They had managed to walk onward, Dean leading the way, in silence for about 12 minutes when Dean stopped.

“Dean?” Sam asked. Castiel looked around, hand on his phaser. He saw nothing of concern.

“Alright, look,” Dean said, spinning around and stepping closer. “That was Yellow Eyes main HQ.” He took another step closer, addressing Sam, “Dad got intel that Azazel’s second in command is gonna be there and he’s -” he looked away, licking his lips, “he plans on going in and I know what he said, and I know it’d throw a wrench in his plans - but I can’t...” He swallowed. “He needs backup.” Dean turned back to his brother. “Whether or not he wants to admit it.”

Sam nodded, “Okay.”

Castiel frowned at them. “We were specifically told not to participate.”

“Yeah well, no one asked for your help either,” Dean sneered. “You wanna sit this one out? The cavern’s right around the corner. I, for one, can’t sit in a hole in the wall all night while my dad goes up against a dozen asshats.”

He held his stare.

“In or out?”

Castiel barely resisted a scoff.


	8. Conceal Don't Feel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit is going DOoooooooooooooooooooown yo. Also Dean is a geeky jealous gadget lover.

  


Starfleet tech was definitely something to admire. Dean got handed a pair of binoculars and holy crap has he been living in the past. The detail in the zoom was spectacular, it could even identify heat sources, worked in the dark, and could graph terrain to transmit to a computer or tricorder. It made things so much easier.

“Hey,” he whispered, “can I keep these?” 

“They are federation property.”

“Can’t you say you lost them or something?”

Castiel turned to glare at him and shook his head. Dean’s shoulders slumped as he turned back to the task at hand. 

“Found it,” Sam whispered. “Coordinates, 34-68.”

Dean went for it (best binoculars ever - seriously), and found the HQ’s entrance. 

“I make two guards, wait three, one just ducked back in.”

“Confirmed.” 

Dean widened his scope of view. “I track two bodies around the perimeter… one of them must be our friendly - nothing else but us and the critters around.”

The suns had already begun their descent and they had prepared the best they could. Dean had his jacket and gloves, pulling a hat and scarf from his sack, it wasn’t much but this wasn’t the first time he’d be out past sundown. Sammy would be nice and cozy in his Federation gear - thermal light-weight jacket and hat and mits and everything - the whole set up. Cas had packed them with the planet’s temperament in mind. ‘Course he didn’t know about polters. Federation intel just isn’t what it used to be. So they also rubbed themselves in saltberries instead. They weren’t just delicious and nutritious - they were practical too! (Okay the nutritious part might be an exaggeration - but they weren’t deadly so that has to count for something.)

Critters hated the scent of saltberries, apart from a few birds who loved the stuff. It would definitely help deter polters and a bunch of others nasties - for a while. Other than that, chances had to be taken.

“Ensign,” Castiel said, “are you able to run a comparative analysis as to precise body temperature of each?”

“Negative results, sir,” Sam said, “both bodies match to an approximative of 2 degrees, within error range.”

“There’s one of them that’s heading back to the doorway,” Dean said. “I’d say that’s enemy. No way someone would volunteer to patrol at night.”

“Indeed,” Castiel said. “How far is he?”

“40 meters and closing. If we’re gonna do this -”

“Ensign.”

“Yes, sir,” Sam said, suppressing a smile, he pushed a button on his tricorder.

The plan wasn’t overly complex. John wasn’t a fool or in distress - but the odds weren’t in his favour. So they decided to shift the scales and to do so: a distraction was needed.

That’s when Sam’s big brain came in. Firing a few phaser blasts would do the trick but it would also mean big trouble for them. And jumping into the fire isn’t going to save anyone. So a distraction was needed which could be activated from a remote location. Something that would warrant sending people out immediately and not wait ‘til daybreak. Something that would be seen as important to a group of criminals. (The bad kind.)

And what better distraction than a vulnerable and valuable ship crashing?

There was loud crash behind them - by the cavern that would’ve protected them - an explosion which caused by a rock cascade. That would be enough to catch their attention and to alert John, but the real trick was unseen. 

“Beginning transmission now, sir.”

All federation ships gave off a similar distress beacon and it wasn’t easy to duplicate, but any good scavenger knew how to detect it at least. 

“C’mon, c’mon…” 

They waited. Dean had the binoculars pushed against his eyes, gripping the device ‘til his fingers went numbs - watching to see that the fish took the bait.

“They’re moving,” Sam said.

Dean grinned.

“Direction?” Castiel asked, nothing about his tone gave any hint of glee to their success thus far.

“Two are breaking away from the cavern entrance,” Sam’s glee was easier to hear. “They’re heading northeast, present course would take it that they are heading towards our diversion at 4 o’clock.”

“4 o’clock?”

“Uh.”

Dean lowered his binoculars and handed them back to Castiel who held a perplexed expression. He rolled his eyes. “He means behind us and to the right.” 

“Sorry, sir. It’s an old Earth term.”

Castiel tightened his brow, confusion making way for the certainty of a task to complete, and took Dean’s binoculars.

“Aww...”

Technically, Dean had borrowed them from Cas - though the term borrowed should be used loosely - but still.

“Probably friendly is non-moving.”

Dean looked down, onto the scene. They had found a decent sized boulders to hide amongst. It wasn’t too far off from where they had been before (an area which was much closer to the mountain and very likely had been created due to a few rock slides). But from here, peeking out over one of the rocks they could see... well, Dean couldn’t really see much of anything at the moment since the sun was nearly down.

“Are they getting closer?”

“Yes.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“20 meters and closing,” Sam whispered, “we should hide.”

“Right.”

Hiding in the dark. What a terribly difficult task.

Still - they ducked down, flattened themselves to the rock and waited. Dean held his eyes open, shooting looks around and trying to spot any shadows, any possible polters, and grit his teeth; it was getting cold.

Castiel brought his binoculars up and kept watch out in the direction the guards had been heading to. And if that meant he was leaning a bit too close to Dean - well, whatever, it was for the mission. 

It seemed he had communicated with Sam, or maybe it was some basic Starfleet something or whatever - but Sam was looking out in the opposite direction. So they were covered - apart from their rear, but they couldn’t keep a watch on that without rick getting spotted. So it would have to be good enough.

Dean - sans binocular - couldn’t really do much. So he sat and waited and listened. Useless. He leaned into the body next to him. For heat.

Finally, “They’re passing us by onto the diversion,” Cas whispered. He was a lot closer then Dean remembered. “Ensign.”

“All clear, sir.”

“I’m going to complete the check, stand by,” Cas said and turned to check towards the entrance. “Clear.” 

“Where’s friendly?” Dean whispered urgently, the sun had set and the grounds around him were pitch black.

“Hold,” Castiel said, binoculars searching the ground.

“Found him,” Sam said. “He’s moving; path clear.”

Dean let out a breath, a sweet wave of relief washing over him, warming him (temporarily) even as his nose numbed. “Awesome.”

“There are still two guards inside with a high probability of more.”

“Well then,” Dean turned to look at Cas and grinned, “let’s get this party started.”

Cas put his binoculars down and turned his head to Dean, frowning. He had no idea what Dean was talking about.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Let’s start part 2.”

Part 1: distract the asshats.

Part 2: Eliminate the asshats.

Cas insisted on the elimination being nonlethal. Blah blah prime directive blah blah. Whatever. He gave Dean a shiny new Federation phaser. Setting it on stun was the least he could do. Plus, this would leave them with captives to interrogate.

“Alright,” Dean said, “Sam, you’re with me -”

“No, he’s not,” Castiel said without looking up. He had grabbed his pack and pulled a pair of goggles out. “Ensign Winchester and I are going to stun and isolate the two guards.” He held the binoculars out for Dean who was trying to get a better look at the goggles. “You will stand guard and send a warning via communicator if there are additional guards arriving to our area.”

“Hell with that,” Dean frowned.

“Ensign?” Cas pushed the binocular to Dean’s chest. Sam’s head popped up from next to Cas, already wearing the weird goggles. 

“Ready sir.”

“Are you kidding me, Sam?”

Cas turned back to his pack, “It is the most logical and efficient tactic to implement. Ensign Winchester and I are trained -”

“I’m trained!” Dean said in a not-whiny voice.

“- and our gear will allow us better movement,” Cas turned to him. “Your involvement will most likely lead to symptoms of hypothermia which would impair your agility.”

Dean glared at him.

“Dean,” Sam said, pulling for his gaze. “He’s right. I’ll be fine.”

Dean opened his mouth to object but before he could, Cas held his hand out.

“This is my communicator.” Dean turned his glare back on Cas but took the device. It had suffered some damage. “It is still functional and I would prefer to it to be returned in a similar state. If you see anything, just tap the -”

“I know how it works.”

“Good.”

“Good!” He replied emphatically. Because he was a mature and serious adult.

Cas just gave him a nod then took off with Sam. Dean scoffed and held the binoculars up, watching his brother and Cas march onward.

“Whatever.”

He brought the binoculars up - no longer impressed now that he knew about night-vision goggles - and began monitoring the surroundings. He made Cas and Sam out easy by pace, height and proximity; they were heading towards the guards who were still on their way to the supposed distress beacon. No other heat sources in that direction. Following the path back to the HQ, Dean didn’t find any other heat sources, so he went wide and found three. Two were posted by HQ’s entrance way and the third was sneaking towards them from the side.

Dad.

There was a blast of energy and then he was on them.

“Shit.” 

One of the bodies was down, the other two were tangled, wrestling - it was too far to make out any more details. He narrowed his range but it didn’t help.

“Crap.”

One of the bodies pushed off the other and - stepping a few feet away - made a wide movement with their arms. The other body sank down, shrinking in on themselves. Not wasting any time, the body - Dad - rushed passed them and into the cave.

“Yes!” Dean hissed, relief pumping through his veins. That’s when he heard the crack. 

It wasn’t the most brilliant of schemes, but Crossrud’s surface consisted mostly of hard rock, which was a killer on the soles. It also enabled easy sneaking. Grab a bundle of dried twigs from a shrub, sprinkle it about - tada! Basic warning system.

Dean dropped his grin and widened his scope. The sound came from his far right. He turned, quietly, and looked that way. The path leading to HQ was clear. Off in the distance he could see a few bodies marching onwards; the two closest being Sam and Cas, and then the guards. The guards had stopped. They turned and walked towards HQ. They were heading back. They were heading back in a hurry.

Crap.

He watched his brother and Cas. They spotted the danger, they - they split up, taking either side of the path and crouched down, hiding? Was there enough cover there? What if they got spotted, did the guards even have night visio -

And that’s when Dean Winchester’s occipital lobe was struck by something heavy and painful.

And he blacked out.


	9. Hell Burns

 

Dean woke up with a fist in his gut, punching any air out of his lungs. He sucked in a breath - the air was damp and reeked of burnt metal - but it wasn’t enough.

“Wakey wakey time.”

There was a light blinding him. On him. Like he was some sort of display. He blinked against it, trying to get some bearing as to his location.

“There we are.” The voice came in from behind him, quiet, slithering over him like a bad fog. “Had a nice little nap, hmm?”

He was lying on an inclined table. His arms spread out on his side, palms up, a metal clamp around each wrist. His feet were also tied down, spread open. Like a damn Vitruvian man.

And then the voice showed itself, blocking out the light and eclipsing Dean’s face.

“So happy you could join us,” the man said, a sick smirk pulling his lips, his eyes dark… Dean knew that face. Alastair Yaeune.

He pulled at his limbs, digging his flesh into his bondage without any success.

“Now now, there boy,” Alastair said, his voice quieter, leaning in, brushing a hand onto Dean’s cheek, “there’s no reason to try so hard.”

Dean stiffened, trying to hold his head away, trying to not reveal how distressed he was. Never let them see how it hurts, don’t show them how to hurt you, that’s what Dad always taught him.

“Ifff I wanted you dead,” his voice got closer, “you’d be dead, boy.” Dean could feel his breath on him.

The hand patted his cheek twice and then moved away.

Dean had never met Alastair in person, just a few scrambled videos and blurry pictures. He’d scraped enough eye witness accounts to know he wasn’t one you wanted to meet. He worked alongside Azazel, but his expertise... He didn’t have the brain to plot out the endgame, but Alastair had techniques that made Azazel look like a teddy bear.

“No, no,” Alastair said, gently. “You and I, we’re going to have some fun.”

Dean twisted his head over to see him over by a table. It was too dark around him, and the lights too bright in his eyes, to see but Alastair came back towards him holding needle and bottle filled with a dark liquid.

“Screw you.” It was weak even to his ears, but Alastair didn’t seem to care. He grinned, smugly, focused on the needle and bottle, inserting it, filling it up with... God what was that?

Dean tried to pull himself free again - no go.

Alastair held the needle up, right in front of him, filled with the dark fluid. He pushed the plunger, just ever so, and then looked down at Dean with a wide wicked smile. “You’re going to enjoy this.”

He pushed the needle tip into Dean’s neck. For the first few seconds, Dean felt nothing. There was the slight discomfort of a needle prick, and the knowledge that a fucking YED asshat was putting something in him but apart from that -

And then his vision got fuzzy.

And then his mouth went dry.

And then he couldn’t feel his feet, couldn’t feel his arms, could only sense that they were shaking - shivering despite the heat.

And then he blacked out.

 

* * *

 

The next time Dean had a clear thought, it was about a rock digging into his back and a tight grip on his shoulder.

His hands were free. His feet were free. Dean blinked again, trying to focus on what was in front of him - on anything really. It’d been so fuzzy… He vaguely registered that he was in a corridor, long and poorly lit. And Cas was in front of him.

He had this awful expression on his face, struck between fear and anguish and just the barest hint of hope.

“Cas…” His voice was weak, barely there, but even at that it caused something warm and bright to break across Cas’s face.

“Dean.” He had never heard anyone say his name with so much gratitude. It struck him as odd, so he blinked again and tried to assess his situation. He was free, or free from Alastair, Cas was holding his shoulders, pinning him to the wall.

Cas had a rip in his uniform, burn marks by his chest and arms. His stomach twisted and the room seemed to spin.

“It’s okay, Dean,” Cas said, loosening his grip just enough to lower them to the floor, letting Dean sit.

He looked down at himself, weary, staring at his hands. There was a phaser in them. It wasn’t one he recognized. It wasn’t one he’d ever seen before. Did he escape? He blinked again, everything was rattling in his brain, everything was wrong.

“What- ahh,” he squeezed his eyes shut as a wave of pain tore through his mind. When he opened them again he realized some of his injuries were scabbed over.

“There’s no time now,” Cas said, voice firm as he looked down the hall. There was noise, a fight, an explosion - “we have to leave.”

He pulled Dean up, wrapping his arm around his shoulders and letting Dean put all his weight on him. They made it two steps before Dean’s brain finally started to clear.

“Sam?” He croaked out. It was painful. The word caught in his throat.

“He’ll be okay.”

“No -” he grabbed at Cas’s shirt, desperate. “Sam.” He needed to be okay. A vague guess. A half assurance - it wasn’t enough.

Cas pinched his lips, looking at him a second before answering, “we’ll find him,” and moving forward again. “He’s not back there.”

They shuffled on, down the corridor and turning the corner. Dean was slowing them down and he knew it. Cas should’ve been over there, fighting. With Sammy. With his dad. Was that why they were here?

“DEAN!”

Sammy.

He was alright. He had a uniform that was covered in dirt and his hair was a mess - but he was alive and alright, thank God.

He ran over, and for a second Dean thought they were gonna hug - but he slowed down and looked at Cas.

“He’s weak but okay,” Cas said. “Where’s John?”

“He went in your direction,” Sam reached over to Dean’s side, the side not occupied by Cas, and helped support him. “you didn’t see him?”

“I got distracted.” Dean felt him tighten his grip one second and then the next he let go, letting Sam hold him up. “The path should still be clear ahead. When you get out, head for location alpha 4 and radio for a imminent pick-up with medical aid required.”

“Nu…” Dean tried to protest but his tongue felt fat and fuzzy. He couldn’t go aboard a Federation vessel.

Cas locked eye with him for long enough to reply, “Don’t talk and try to keep your mouth closed.” It should’ve been insulting but somehow Dean felt the order was protective and concerned more than anything. Cas looked back to Sam, “If I don’t meet back with you, don’t wait.”

“NUH.”

Cas glared at him and rushed off.

“EH!” His tongue was definitely numb for some reason.

“He’ll be alright, Dean,” Sam said, pushing them forward.

Dean blinked, his eyes woozy, that numbing sensation spreading over him like a blessing, calming the pain in his chest and cooling the burning in his thighs. He focused on moving forward. He tried not to be so troublesome for Sam. He tried.

And then there were outside.

He’s not quite sure when that happened.

And then they were hiding behind some boulders, one particularly large rock provided them with some cover from the sun. Sam put them down there, letting Dean rest in the shade and handing him a canteen of water while he pulled out a - a something. The canteen was hard enough to focus on.

And it just sat there. In Dean’s hand. Was that his hand? Why wasn’t it moving?

Sam was saying something. His mouth was definitely moving. Words were probably coming out. Dean couldn’t hear them. Everything was muted and so… so fuzzy.

He tried blinking but then it was dark and then it was light and then Cas was holding his face - when did Cas get back? There was a blanket over him. He was - he was wet. Sweating. His neck, his face.

There was this horrible high pitched noise coming from - from everywhere.

And he was shivering.

Cas said something too. It wasn’t a loud yelly thing, either. It was a soft and looked comforting. Dean wished he could hear it. But it was too much. And his body flinched when something moved across his chest. Blanket. The blanket moved. He opened his eyes and Cas was still there. Why was Cas there? Why was he looking at him like... Dean took a shuddering breath, squeezing his eyes shut - that numbing feeling again. It was on his tongue and spread to his chest. It was calming and cooling, washing out the dirt and crap perpetually in him, but burned like whiskey.

And then his ears cleared.


	10. Chills in the Heavens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is alive. which is... great..

 

When Dean woke up he saw a bright light. It was too close to be a star, so that meant artificial. He blinked, letting his eyes adjust as he tried to move his limbs. Nothing was tied down. Good.

He sat up, or at least tried to. A sharp pain hit his gut and froze him halfway through the motion.

“Hey, hey, easy there,” someone to his far left said. Dean managed to turn his head. A blonde in a Starfleet uniform rushed over to his side. “Easy there,” she said, “you’re still on bed rest.” She put a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down.

He grumbled but fell back.

“Where’s Sam?”

“Sam’s fine,” she said, pulling his cover back up. “He’ll be real happy to know you’re finally up.” She smiled at him. A tight bitter grin. The moment he saw it, Dean knew something was wrong. It must have shown in his face, because when she looked up, when she looked back at him, she tensed up. It was just a second, before she looked away, but it was enough to get Dean’s heart rate up.

“What -”

“Is he awake?” A man in uniform interrupted him. His hair was coiffed to the side and his mouth pulled into a friendly grin when his eyes landed on Dean. “Well hey there, I’m Doctor Garth Fitzgerald IV, you can call me Garth, and this is Nurse Jessica Moore.” He paused and stepped closer, holding his hands up. “There’s no need to be afraid.”

Dean frowned at the scrawny man who had his hands out, as if he were trying to calm a wild animal. It was insulting, all things considered. “I’m not afraid.”

“Good,” he dropped his hand, “that’s good.”

“I’ll go let them know.” The nurse looked to Dean, “Sam’ll be here soon.” And then she was gone. And Dean was left with the Doc. He pulled out a tiny beeping Federation med tech thingy and looked up to the screen above Dean’s head.

“The good news is all your broken bones have healed nicely,” Garth explained, waving the med-thingy up and down Dean’s body, “the nerve damage should take another day or two, but that’s due to some residue... uh… particles.”

Dean threw an arm out, shoving the doc and his medical-thingamabob away.

“Do you know what day it is?”

“Not _my_ day.”

“Heh, that’s funny.” He chuckled and Dean looked at him, unamused. “At least I know you’ve got your sense of humour, eh?” Dean continued to glare. “Okay then.”

The med doors slid open and Sam rushed in.

“Sam!”

“Dean!” Sam rushed over to his bedside as Dean winced - having once again attempted to sit up. “Hey, hey, take it easy.”

“I’m fine,” he grumbled, pushing his pillow down for leverage and sitting up despite the pain. “What happened? Where are we? Where’s -” He stopped, glancing over the doctor still lingering around him. Sam followed his gaze, something stiffening in his eye.

“Uh, Garth.”

“Hmm?”

“Can you give us a minute?”

“Oh. Sure yeah. I’ll just uh- I’ll go give the captain an update.”

“Yeah, thanks. Jess is with them in conference room 2.”

“Alright then.” He grinned and gave Sam a pat on the shoulder, to which he offered a polite nod. When he was gone, Sam took a deep breath and turned back to Dean.

Dean knew that look. It was the ‘bad news to come’ look.

“Dean -”

“What happened? Where’s Dad?”

Sam looked away.

“Sam -”

“He didn’t make it.”

Dean just stared back.

“I went back in when Cas didn’t come out and - and I found him. It was... He was gone. He’s… Dad’s dead.”

Dean couldn’t do much else but stare at his brother. He told him how he and Cas had called for backup. How he’d dragged the body out. How he hadn’t believed it. How he’d been too stunned to check vitals or perform some sort of basic medical. How it wouldn’t have mattered. Because he was dead. He was stiff and cold and dead. Dead. Dead.

Cas had found him, dragging the body in the corridors. He helped him bring it out to Dean’s location. Body, because Dad was dead. How Dean had passed out, went into a coma nearly. He’d lost a lot of blood, had an imminent infection. How close to death he was. How scared Sam was… And Cas stepped up. Cas had kept his vitals going and his status alive. And then the Persephone had come by. And Dad’s dead. And they’d beamed up. And it had been about 40 hours. And they think Dean’ll be okay. And that was great. And Dad was dead. Dad was dead.

Sam looked back at him. He was sad. Sam was sad. His eyes were wet.

He should say something. He should say something and make things better. Comfort. He was supposed to be comforting Sam, right?

Dean opened his mouth but nothing came out.

So he nodded and looked away.

There was a moment of silence and then Sam sniffled a little, taking a deep breath in and clearing his throat. “I’m going to - uh - I’ll let you rest. They’re having a briefing of uh... Well everything. The captain’ll probably talk to you later but uh... I have to go uh... If you need me - f you want to talk, or... anything. Dean, if you need me for anything - just. Let them know and they’ll call me, okay?”

“Alright.” He’s not sure how, but the word came out steady. Quiet, but steady. Steadier than he felt in any case.

“Alright…” Sam patted his arm as he stood, but Dean still couldn’t look at him.

Dad was dead.

And now.

He was alone.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come - due date TBD


End file.
